Kill It With Fire!
by Lampito
Summary: Usually, Dean is a fan of the Shoot First And Ask Questions Later approach - in fact, he's quite happy with Shoot First And Don't Bother With Questions At All - but on this one very specific occasion, he can't help but wonder if Sam isn't overreacting, just a weeny little bit... a one shot.


**Kill It With Fire!**

It was the agitated scuffling that caught Dean's attention in the wee small hours. That, coupled with his Sam radar. He sat up in bed, squinting into the low light thrown by the screen of Sam's laptop, the only source of illumination.

Sam was moving around the room, muttering to himself. Instantly, Dean was on the alert, throwing back the covers.

"Hey, Sammy, where's the fire?"

"We have to get moving," his brother replied without preamble, "Now. Pack up your stuff."

"Huh?" Dean glanced at the laptop. "Sam, what are you..."

"Do we have any consecrated iron rounds?" Sam interrupted. "I haven't had a chance to do a lot of research, but we don't have time for that."

"Sam, can you just slow down for a minute..."

"Consecrated iron works on a lot of things," Sam seemed to be talking to himself as much as to Dean, "I know we've got holy water, we'll take that too."

"...So we can talk about this..."

"Do we have any silver ammo left?" Sam suddenly stopped and looked worried. "We should take silver rounds too."

"...Just, you know, pause, and breathe, and think about this..."

"Silver blades," Sam muttered, "Those too, especially if we don't have any rounds."

"...Talk about our options, here..."

"The demon-killing knife, that goes without saying, we'll have to take that."

"...Because I understand you're concerned..."

Sam let out a little giggle. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm almost disappointed that you don't have the First Blade any more."

"...And usually, I'm right on board with the whole, you know, see the fugly, go in all guns blazing, shoot first, ask questions later, actually no, don't bother to ask questions at all..."

"Machetes!" Sam pronounced, letting out that disturbing little giggle again. "Decapitation will stop it, whatever it is, or at least, slow it down until we can figure out how to finish it off."

"...But I think that on this one occasion, on this one particular occasion, it might be better to, uh, wait for more intel..."

"Boric acid, just in case, it can't hurt to pick up some Borax on the way." Sam's giggling continued. "And of course, if all else fails, we'll just set it on fire."

"Sam..."

"Cleansing, purifying fire," the giggling acquired a distinct edge of hysteria as Sam turned a rictus grin on his brother, "Liar, liar, set it on fire..."

"Sam..."

"KILL IT WITH FIRE!" shrieked Sam. "KILL IT WITH FIRE! KILL IT WITH FIRE KILL IT WITH FIRE KILL IT KILL IT KILLITKILLITKI-"

The slap was sharp and accurate, and it had the desired effect; the crack of the blow sounded loud in the sudden silence as it cut Sam off mid gibber.

Sam's hand rose slowly to his cheek, his face crumpling into a picture of lost bewilderment.

Dean put his hand firmly on his brother's shoulders. "Sam, look at me, bro," he instructed in his best Big Brother voice. "Look at me, right now, and listen to me."

Sam fixed his gaze on his brother the way a drowning man might watch the approach of a Coast Guard vessel, his big brother, who would fix everything...

"It's not a monster. It's not a fugly. This is not a job for us, Sam - this is not a job for us."

Dean sighed inwardly as he watched Sam's face crumple, looking all of five years old again. He smiled, and, in defiance of his No Chick Flick Moments rule, folded his baby brother into a hug.

"It will be okay, Sam," he said firmly, "Tomorrow - well, later today - life will go on, the sun will come up, and everything will be okay. Come on, trust me, I'me your big brother."

They stood there for a minute or so, Dean soothing his baby bro the way he'd done so many times before, before calling him a bitch, and chivvying him into bed. Later would come the teasing, but for now, his only concern was to see Sam get the rest he clearly needed, and get back on an even keel.

He shut down the laptop himself, shaking his head in bemusement, then smiled at Sam, who had started to snore gently.

He loved his little brother.

He just wished Sam didn't take the whole politics thing so seriously.

* * *

If anybody Up There in the YouSay is feeling thoroughly drained by The Whole Catastrophe, come and seek cultural asylum Down Here for a couple of weeks. We don't care whom you did or didn't vote for, if you've just had enough, just get on a plane, and when you arrive at the airport, just tell them "I'm from FFN, and I can't take any more!" and you'll be offered a cup of tea, some nice chokky chip biscuits, and somewhere to lie down for a bit. I think some of you might need some scalp massage and puppy therapy.


End file.
